"Follow That Same Old Road"
Title: "Follow That Same Old Road"
Author: Rissy James
Rating: 14A (possible eventual 18+)
Summary: DG is the only hope of a country laid to ruin by an evil Sorceress. An elaborate, carefully constructed trail awaits her, but will she forge her own path?
Warning: Technical AU. All series spoilers apply.
Author's Note: Written for the second annual "Big Damn Challenge"; a link to my table. Inspired by the Everworld quote: "It doesn't count if the plan works by accident!"
Seven
Frame
The hallway is long, and lined with her drawings. Whether portrait or landscape or half-finished pencil sketch, each is contained within an elaborate, gilded frame; a dream display of her work. As she passes each on her journey down the hall, watercolour waves ripple, and charcoal clouds roll. She feels as if she's walking through a living world, when she knows that these are just her dreams realized on paper. Lines and strokes, nothing more.
She stops in front of an especially large painting, the black funnel cloud reaching from the top of the canvas to the bottom, dominating the image with its threat.
“A storm is coming.”
The words echo through the empty hallway, and a gust of cold wind blows through and rattles the paintings. A few fall to the floor, the breaking of glass and the cracking of wood adding to the rush of wind. She puts her hands over her ears as another blast hits her back, knocking her forward a step and billowing her long dark hair around her, tunnelling her vision and forcing her to look straight ahead.
At the end of the hallway is a door, the glass spider-webbed into dozens of panes, lit up with pale blue light. The wind is coaxing her toward it, chilly fingers pulling at her arms and hair. She resists, because she's never one to go easily. She knows, somehow, that truth lies on the other side of the door, and that once opened, can never be closed.
She fears going through it, worries about instant retribution and loss of innocence. What lies through that door frightens her, but the inevitability of reaching it does little to soothe her.
The wind stops. The paintings stop clattering on the walls, her hair settles itself on her shoulders. Hesitantly and oh so carefully, she takes a step closer to the end of the hall and the bluest, clearest light she's ever seen. Glass and splinters crunch underneath her feet.
A shadow moves behind the door, and she awakens with a start.
Dent
“Kiddo, wake up.”
Her eyes pop open, and she pushes herself to sitting, nearly slamming her head into the low ceiling. The tiny bed shoved into the corner of the back room had boasted little comfort when she'd laid down upon it, but here she is, waking up from a deep sleep - or rather, being woken by a perturbed looking Wyatt Cain.
“You were making enough noise to rouse the whole house,” he says, jerking a thumb not out the door to the rest of the apartment, but upward, to the rest of the building and the city in general, she assumes.
“Sorry,” she says sheepishly, swiping the heel of her hand across her eyes, one and then the other. Her pop had always shown concern for her tossing and turning, but Mr. Cain seems only mildly annoyed. “Did I wake you?” she asks.
He frowns, and moves from his kneeling position beside the bed to a small chair in the opposite corner. There isn't enough space between the bed and the ceiling for him to sit up comfortably, though she moves her feet to make room for him to sit at the foot. It's then that she notices her dog's conspicuous absence; he'd fallen asleep with her but now the foot of the bed is cold.
“Can't wake what wasn't sleeping,” Mr. Cain tells her. “You all right?”
“Define 'all right',” she mutters. She swings her stockinged feet over the edge of the bed and sits up hunched over, elbows atop her knees. Her hair must be a mess, her clothes rumpled, but there is so much weighing on her mind that she doesn't care.
Mr. Cain has nothing to offer. He doesn't go into the other room, where Raw's snores are but quiet snuffles. She wonders if he's just lonely for company.
“Hey, can I ask you a question?”
He smirks. “Just the one?”
“Why did DeMilo call you 'tin man'?”
“Because I was one, once,” he says shortly.
DG's lips twisted skeptically. She'd come to know the man as close-guarded and distant, but tin? Mr. Cain takes a single look at the confused expression on her face, and shakes his head.
“Tin Men were the law in Central before the witch came and upended the country,” he says. He looks at her long and hard, perhaps judging her capability to understand what he's saying. “Most were killed during the last stand of the city,” he explains.
She remembers what she was told before, on the road to Central City. After a failed last stand, all those loyal to the Queen smuggled their families out... She bites the inside of her lip to see the sadness in his eyes, the ring on his finger, the empty cabin so easily left behind, and the iron suit hiding under the eaves and the ivy. She's made a bit of progress, put a dent in that steely hide of his, and it's a start. Of course, she decides to push her luck.
“Mr. Cain,” she says slowly, her sentence open to more questions. However, he doesn't seem to be willing to answer any more, because he pushes himself to standing, and is about to tell her something - whether it be to mind her own business or go back to sleep or jump off a cliff - when there is a great deal of commotion coming out of the sitting room, and the hushed lull of their conversation is broken.
Pursuit
By the time he arrives in Central City, the streets are empty and quiet. He travels into the depths and eventually reaches a place that never sleeps, where lights burn bright and calls are heard through all hours of the night. It's the perfect place to hide, even for one as well-bred and educated as the old man is rumoured to be.
Living among such dishonest folks, it's a wonder the old man hasn't been turned in before now.
“What are your orders, Captain?” one of his underlings asks him, leaning in close so as to be heard.
“We follow DeMilo's instructions,” the captain says, “and then we take them quietly. The girl and the old man come with us. The rest...” he trails off and doesn't finish. He remembers DeMilo's nervous, pathetic story as they met him outside the city walls. Something about a Viewer, a headcase, and Wyatt Cain.
His interest in this assignment had been minimal in the beginning - search the whole of the eastern province for someone who might have landed a travel storm and who might be travelling... anywhere in the Zone? It sounded like an excuse to feed the paranoia of the Sorceress.
...And then the news had reached him. The someone is a girl, bearing the crest of the royal family, guarded and guided by a man who is supposed to be incarcerated forever in a tin box, on her way to meet with an old man that has eluded the grasp of the Sorceress for nine annuals.
If the job hadn't already been his, he'd have been worming his way onto the detail by whatever means necessary. Catching the girl and the wizard will put him eternally in the good graces of the Sorceress, and his legacy will be secure.
The stairs that DeMilo had described were concealed by a length of wrought-iron fence, and a pair of vendor stands wedged tightly side-by-side. Behind these stands, shoving his way past colourful costumes and an astounding array of pleasure-producing paraphernalia, he finds a set of rusty stairs heading down to a tiny doorstep.
It takes a good deal of force to get the door open. The walls inside the apartment must reverberate with the noise; he muses over the panic and fear that must be gripping the girl. He is smug in his satisfaction, watching his men kick the door in. He allows his men to go in first, and awaits the defensive - but it doesn't come.
He shoves his way into the apartment as his men scour each and every room, throwing open wardrobes and tossing aside the furniture. Books and papers and clothes are scattered everywhere, but each of his Longcoats comes up empty-handed.
“They're gone, sir,” one of his men tells him, all together too obvious.
With a hard swallow, the captain tugs his gloves a little tighter in an effort to keep his control focused. To say that he dreads delivering this report to Lonot and the Sorceress is a severe understatement. “Turn this place upside down,” he tells his men. “If they left any clue to where they're going, I want it found.”
Leave
The journey north is long and lonely. In the darkness, there is nothing to see. Craning her neck to see out the windscreen at the road lit before them by the headlamps only keeps her attention for so long before she realizes that the road has nothing to boast but rocks and trees and bricks.
To say that she's about to lose it doesn't even come close to the whole truth. Leaving Milltown hadn't prepared her for what lay beyond the reassurance of her parents - her nurture units. She still hasn't managed to wrap her head around that, and will push it away for as long as she is able.
Sneaking into the city, avoiding guards; the Mystic Man's secrets and half-truths... and then the rushing and the worry to get out of the city. The old man pretended to be concerned only of his own hide, that there were people after him. But as they'd been hastily preparing to abandon the apartment, she'd overheard the Mystic Man tell Mr. Cain that she must be protected at all costs. That it was her safety that was paramount.
She's to lead the way to a great treasure, which will in turn save the country from Azkadellia and end the war.
Even rethinking on it, she covers her face with her hands and sighs deeply. She's a waitress, a student, not a hero or a saviour. She can't do what they're expecting of her, she knows that even if she doesn't quite understand it all... she can't even balance the length of a fence without falling off.
“I don't like this,” she says, staring out the side-window into the darkness.
“Don't like what?” Glitch asks her, turning to her with a smile. He's sandwiched between her and Raw on the bench seat, and this is the first conversation that's been struck since the vehicle started. The ominous silence doesn't sit well with her forgetful friend, and he jumps at the chance to disturb the quiet.
“I just...” she trails off and heaves another sigh. “I came here looking for my mother.”
He nods, wide-eyed and innocent. “We'll find her,” he says, and he believes it. She wishes she could share in his optimism, but her outlook is as bleak as the landscape outside the speeding car. “She wants you to look for her, I'll bet.”
DG chews the inside of her lip for a moment, her worst fear weighing so heavily on her mind that she has to say something or go mad. “I don't think she does; she sent me away, didn't she?” She nods toward the Mystic Man in the passenger's seat beside Cain, a partition halfway up because she's supposed to be sleeping.
“Mother waits for DG,” Raw says quietly. She leans forward to see past Glitch slouched between them. Raw is staring down at his hands. “Many things wait for DG.”
She falls back in her seat again, crossing her arms over her chest. What is she supposed to do with all this cryptic information? She lays back against the headrest, turns away from the car to stare out the window. When the snow starts, she feels the same familiar tugging inside of her that she feels when she catches the sight of the twin suns spanning the sky.
Winter
This is a place unlike any she's ever known.
The snow that sifts down from the sky is always feather-light, no matter the winds that blow it once it reaches the ground, which can be one minute a gentle gust and the next the harshest gale.
There is something unexplainable about this cold; it touches her skin, nips at her, but doesn't seep into her skin, chill her to the bone. She feels surrounded by it but not affected by it. She can't say the same for the others; Glitch seems to have gone a funny grey colour, and Mr. Cain's fair complexion has gone from a rosy pink to an angry red tinge in his cheeks.
The road had eventually come to its inevitable end; a poor collection of winter clothes had been hastily tossed into the trunk before leaving the city, one of the pathetic preparations managed before the chase had begun again. Scarves and blankets had been shared among them, and then the trek through the snow had begun.
Over one hill, and then the next, they walk. Mr. Cain breaks a trail for them, shuffling his well-booted feet through the deep snow. The Mystic Man follows behind him, and it doesn't take long before DG gets the impression that the old man is enjoying the stroll; as she snuggles her dog against her chest to share in his warmth, she can see why he would breathe deeply, stare in joyful wonder at his surroundings. After being cooped up in the city's cramped and stuffy underbelly for so many years, the chance to see an unimpeded sky is a burst of new life.
Finally, they break out of the woods, and a long, gradual slope leads to a small land-locked sea cradled by mountains. The waters are frozen, but the deep blue hue of the ice offsets the white of the snow, showing clearly its shores. In the center of the ice sea is a towering glacier.
“Well?” the Mystic Man asks her, the smallest hint of a smile on his shivering lips.
The first tremble of cold runs through her as she stares at the glacier. Well what?
The trip down the hill is a slow, careful trek. Her feet slip and slide on the ice, and she and Glitch cling to each other's arms in an attempt to regain some sort of balance. She watches her little dog skitter back and forth on the ice, sliding one way and then the next as his little paws try to gain traction. He barks up at the ice mountain as if he expects it to answer him.
DG's head falls back as she stares up and up and up. The very peak of the glacier glints in the light of the rising suns. She's exhausted and her eyes are burning, but she's never felt quite so invigorated. Glitch and Raw gather next to her while Mr. Cain follows the Mystic Man straight up to the sheer wall of the ice mountain. The old man taps the wall with his cane, but it makes no sound.
“Magnificent!” he exclaims, tapping his cane again. “Truly magnificent!” He turns around to watch DG with excitement clear in his eyes. He motions for her to come forward, and she does so, nearly sliding straight into Mr. Cain in the process. He catches her by the arm and rights her.
“'Glistening white mountain',” she recites quietly to herself. The very fairytales spoken to her by her pop are true to life right before her eyes. She remembers the rest of the story, the sad and lonely queen who waits for her little girl to come home to her. But... it's just a mound of ice.
“Yes,” the Mystic Man encourages her with a grin. “Open the way, your answers wait.”
She frowns. “The way to your great treasure.”
“No, not my great treasure,” he says, and pats her shoulder. “Yours.”
She looks up again, up and up. This close, she can barely make out the peak and the glare is blinding. The suns are almost completely risen, it's going to be a bright and beautiful winter morning. She shifts her head ever so slightly, and something catches her eye. The wall of ice... it creates some sort of outline, as if something is trapped underneath.
Her brow furrows. The dog stops barking, and the others fall back.
A daughter of light came upon a glistening white mountain, frozen in time in a sea of ice. Above all else, she knew...
She skirts the mountain, moving across the sheer ice, small steps to keep from falling. She positions herself a ways away from the others, curiosity giving into something even curiouser. She feels the tingle in her hand, not the pins-and-needles of cold fingers, but something infinitely different...
DG swallows hard. The others are muttering to themselves behind her, and the little dog has begun to whimper piteously. Glancing up again, a barrage of images flares through her mind, and she has to shut her eyes against the glare of the ice and the constant flash behind her eyes of blue-tinted glass and green marble floors and rows upon rows of pillars, an endless forest of carved white stone.
Above all else, she knew that this mountain was more than it appeared.
The resounding, sickening crunch of breaking ice reaches her ears, and she jumps back as the first chunk of the glacier breaks free. She screams, catching the barest glimpse of her palm glowing red before shielding her head with her hands. Ice begins to rain down around her, pieces the size of her fist, her whole body, and larger. She screams again and ducks; there are shouts from behind her, Mr. Cain and Glitch are calling her name, but she's too terrified to move.
It was... it was...
And then the world is quiet; the deafening crack and crash of ice ending so abruptly that she wonders if she's dead. But no, Mr. Cain is calling her name again and there's a hand on her arm, helping her to her feet. Glitch wraps an arm around her shoulders, asking her again and again if she's okay. Her dog is barking frantically at her feet. The Mystic Man is laughing and applauding her.
She looks up; the glacier is gone. In its place is an enormous palace, constructed of walls of ivory and windows of blue glass.
Home.
Index
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